khaosworks | Gone, but not formatted... (Reply)

Online, Some Bloggers Never Die
By Christopher Null
02:00 AM Apr. 22, 2003 PT

Adrian Heideman, an 18-year-old college student, wrote about hating his chemistry lab, his love of skateboarding and how he cost his Pi Kappa Phi pledge class "house chore points" or failing to take down a flag on time.

It was a typical sort of entry on LiveJournal , a popular online diary and weblogging site. But Heideman, a student at California State University at Chico who posted the note on Sept. 19, 2000, had no idea it would be his last to the site.

Two weeks later, he died in an apparent fraternity-related alcohol poisoning. He left behind a grieving family, a mournful college and an impromptu electronic memorial that has generated a deluge of comments from friends, classmates and total strangers.

Eulogies and random postings have continued to appear on the site in the years since Heideman died, and the journal has become a place for grieving and friendly banter among old colleagues.

Garrett Palm, a close friend of Heideman's, said he has mixed feelings about the journal's continuing presence in cyberspace.

"I'm glad to have Adrian's LiveJournal still around, although I never visit it anymore," said Palm. "I keep it on my 'friends' list just so I can see his name every so often, but I can never bring myself to click on his name. The first year or so after he passed on I visited it with decreasing regularity, until eventually I couldn't handle the emotions. I had to move on. But the idea that it is still around is comforting ... it's almost as if he isn't dead."

Online memorials have a history that dates back to the beginning of the Web. These sites are established after the event and are created by fans or loved ones rather than by the deceased themselves. (Timothy Leary's strange proto-self-memorial is a notable exception.)

Do me a favor, guys - if I cop it somehow, forward all my papers to Best Friend

logam. It's been decided long ago that he'd be the eventual executor of any literary estate I leave behind. And remember - the inscription on the stone reads, "TEMPUS FUCKIT".